Читать книгу Lantern Marsh онлайн

68 страница из 92

“Oh!” he said, turning to hand up a large parcel, done up in wrapping paper. “You forgot the books.”

Mrs. Day laughed.

“Mauney,” she said, “I brought you three books, but I’m not going to give them to you. They are just wild Indian stories of adventure.”

“Why did you buy that truck, my dear?” asked Day.

“Why, I really didn’t figure it out, Neville,” she laughed. “I imagined Mauney about fourteen. But I’ll change them and send them down.”

Mauney took the proffered hands of Day and his sister and then his Aunt Mary’s. When his aunt was kissing him on the cheek, Neville Day was clearing his throat and chewing at the end of a new cigar. Soon the motor-car backed into the lane; then, with a sudden lurch ahead, it snorted up the road, his aunt waving her hand in farewell. Mauney watched it until it was engulfed in a dense cloud of dust and the noise of its opened exhaust had quieted to a faint rumble. Then he walked slowly up the lane toward the house.

By the kitchen door he encountered his father pumping himself a tin ladleful of well water.